[malamea]

rants/ venting posts * prose & poetry * other writings

this blog is such a good therapy for me, my personal online diary. so easy to just rant and vent on and easy to just type away and post it and have it all in one place and you can also reblog things that mean something to you or quotes you relate to, like scrapbooking in a journal, and I just - it’s such a good form of therapy for me 💜

my main tumblr:

bratandbeing

[malamea]

all you had to do

was stay beside me when I was struggling

be gentle with me in the dark,

ask how I was,

listen and reassure.

I wouldn’t have had to disappear

just to piece myself back together alone.

and when I grew silent,

more distant,

trying to heal myself,

all you had to do

was remind me you were still there

and then SHOW me you MEANT it.

and when it hurt you,

when my absence left its mark,

all you had to do

was speak to me with care

with patience, with love,

with honesty that didn’t cut

not tear me down,

not twist my pain into something you could use against me,

not strike me with words so deep

that they left wounds language can’t even begin to describe.

it was never complicated.

it was never too much.

just support me.

just love me gently.

that’s it.

that’s all it would’ve taken

and I would have loved you

for the rest of my life.

[malamea]

the silence between us has started to feel more honest than the conversations. every time i try to reach him, to show him the storm inside me, he drifts, ghosts me, ignores me, leaves me standing all alone in my dark…. and i'm tired. so tired. tired of showing up with all of me while he shows up with nothing but absence.

i've been falling apart while the world keeps moving, and i thought maybe, just maybe, he’d hold me through it. buy he doesn’t. he can’t. or he won’t. and each time I speak my truth, it’s met with emptiness, like i'm talking to the wind.

now i pull back, not because I don’t care, not because i've stopped loving, but because i can’t keep throwing myself into a void, pretending it will ever hold me.

so i grow quiet. less invested. less open. i've hardened. i guard myself. i'm learning that at the end of the day, the only one who truly shows up for me is me, and expecting it from anyone else is a fool’s errand.

i guess i was nothing but a pretty and willing body anyways.

and the silence? it hurts, but it’s real. at least it’s real. at least it doesn’t lie.

[malamea]

People are so shifty, lol.

“oh I’ll be there for you!!” …until you’re actually struggling.

like the second your mental health stops being palatable and you say something a little unhinged or real or uncomfortable… suddenly it’s crickets.

love that for me.

but honestly? I’m used to it at this point. people love the idea of being supportive, not the reality of it.

meanwhile my ex, the one literally moving out, is texting me every hour checking how I’m doing at that time, calling me on his lunch break, listening to me say crazy things and staying and talking me through it, etc, actually showing up in ways people swear they will but never do.

funny how the person who’s leaving is the one staying the most consistent.

idk, just makes you realize who actually has the capacity to care vs who just likes to say they do.

[malamea]

I keep all my darkness locked away inside me so it never touches his light, but I can’t seem to fully let go of the only beautiful thing I have right now.

So I hold it tighter, bury it deeper, pretending I can keep it from ever reaching him, knowing I can’t outrun what lives inside me forever.

I know I should walk away.

I know that would be the kinder thing.

But I’m not strong enough to choose it.

Not selfless enough to set him free.

So I stay… quietly hoping he sees what I can’t bring myself to do, and chooses to save himself from me.

Please… before I become something that hurts you.

[malamea]

Experiencing something like that never leaves you. It doesn’t pack up and move out. It doesn’t fade neatly into the past.

Some days are better than others. Some days I almost forget it happened to me. It feels far away then.... like something I read in the news, tragic but distant, belonging to someone else’s life. On those days, I can breathe without feeling it sitting on my chest.

Other days, I’m reliving it in chopped-up fragments. Not a full memory, just flashes. A sound. A feeling. The way the air felt in my lungs. The fear.

How can men be so evil? How can someone abuse a person like that and then leave them for dead?

I was overdosing, barely conscious, and they took advantage of me. I would be dead today if one of them hadn’t anonymously called 911 and said where I was. My life exists because of that call.

Being revived in the back of an ambulance and then having to do a rape kit immediately afterward was soul-crushing. There’s something about being pulled back into your body only to have it examined like evidence that changes you.

I have a hard time trusting men now. Especially when they treat me like something sexual, like an object - all lust and no love. When I feel reduced to a body instead of a person, a thought slips in before I can stop it:

This man is capable of doing to me what they did.

And that’s the part that doesn’t leave.

[malamea]

they say everything happens for a reason.

i was never a believer in that.

i trusted science instead-

atoms, equations, cold hard facts.

cause and effect. nothing mystical.

and yet.

perhaps there is something to it.

because someone as perfect as you

doesn’t just appear-

not like that,

not exactly when you did.

[malamea]

January 14th 2026

he sees it in my face

when my phone lights up with someone else’s name,

a smile i don’t give him anymore.

sadness reaches him before words do,

though sometimes it breaks through.

sharp. unhinged.

he talks about forever like a threat,

about being bound by what almost destroyed us.

he says he saved me-

and maybe that’s true.

or maybe we just learned how to survive together

and mistook it for destiny.

he won’t let go.

that’s what scares me.

because if he does,

i’m afraid he’ll fall back into the dark.

so we live like this-

separate rooms, shared history,

a knock at my door each night,

and me, learning how not to answer.

[malamea]

January 2026

this was supposed to be simple.

selfish.

a transaction–use and leave.

don’t look at me like that.

i didn’t hesitate at first.

attention is currency,

and he’d been offering it for years.

messages. longing. want.

it’s not like he was innocent,

he wanted something from me too.

we were both complicit.

we were both aware.

i am not the villain in that version of the story.

he was just as willing.

just as hungry.

and yes it helped that he fit me a little too perfectly.

that’s where it began to unravel.

somewhere along the way,

it stopped being hollow.

feelings slipped in quietly,

like they always do when you’re not paying attention.

i should have pulled back the moment i felt them take shape.

i know that.

i’m not ready for anything real.

i barely survived the last thing.

i only wanted heat, not something that lingers.

if i’m not careful,

this will grow roots.

and i already know how this ends,

with me believing more

than i ever meant to.

[malamea]

December 2025

after the breakup, i was starving.

not for love, for attention.

for being wanted without asking.

so i went back to the men i had ignored for years.

the unopened messages.

the names that had sat quietly in my inbox while i was loyal, devoted, certain.

i never really looked twice at them before.

i didn’t need to.

i was in love.

but love had left me empty.

i wanted attention the way a dehydrated body wants water.

urgently.

desperately.

without moral nuance.

it started as selfishness, plain and simple.

i never planned to keep anything going.

i wasn’t searching for connection.

i just needed proof,

that i was still desired,

still magnetic,

still seen.

so i talked.

to exes.

to men who had always waited in the wings.

five conversations blooming at once

like a reckless kind of triage.

did i feel guilty?

a little.

did i feel gross?

sometimes.

but the hunger was louder than the shame.

after years of begging for attention

from a man who made me feel invisible,

who dulled my shine,

who stood beside me and still made me feel small,

being wanted again cracked open something inside me.

[malamea]

January 2024

It’s been days now, longer than usual, this heavy cloud of depression that drapes itself over me without mercy, deeper and darker than before, a shadow that won’t lift. I’m familiar with these moments—those sudden crashes that follow a storm of anxiety or panic, moments when the world narrows and hope slips away-but they usually pass, like winter thawing into spring after just a few days. This time, though, it lingers, settling into every corner of my mind, dragging on and on, and I wait. Waiting for the break, the shift, the snap back to the melancholy I know, the familiar ache I can carry, but it stays just out of reach, and I am still here. Trapped beneath this quiet suffocation, still waiting.

[malamea]

November 2025

i’m bad at saying heavy things out loud.

my mouth betrays me when my heart is full.

i’m afraid i’ll under-explain,

or explain too much and break us both,

or watch you cry and soften and abandon myself again

because loving you has always meant choosing you over my own bones.

so i’m writing this instead.

because writing lets me keep my spine.

i’ve been quiet these last few days,

doing the kind of soul searching that drags the truth out of you, even the ones you were hoping would stay buried.

and turns out the that truth was laying underneath the surface the whole time,

unfortunate….but loud and clear.

i need to let us go.

i love you.

that’s the cruelest part.

i love you enough to know that as life partners we would slowly poison each other.

i might survive, if enough things changed…but you wouldn’t.

you’re already unhappy with me.

nothing i do reaches you.

i’ve tried being soft.

i’ve tried being silent.

i’ve tried being firm, loud, sharp.

thinking maybe if i raised my voice, you’d finally hear me.

every version of me meets the same wall.

you drift away from me in the same room.

i’m always reaching, always asking, always leaning in,

and lately i’ve grown tired.

tired of offering everything I have only to have it returned to me hollow.

so yes, i’ve grown quieter.

less interested.

not because i don’t care, but because I can’t keep bending myself to hold us together, alone.

last night i made a list.

pros and cons.

me, you, us.

the imbalance was loud.

proof I didn’t want to see… but couldn’t unsee.

you’ve been trying lately, i know.

but even now you’re still miserable.

and if the roles were reversed,

if i had hurt you like this,

if you were crying the way i have been

i would be glued to your side.

i would not let you sleep alone.

i would move heaven and hell just to prove my love.

we want different things.

we need different kinds of care.

and neither of us can become what the other needs.

this isn’t getting better.

this is what it is.

and loving you shouldn’t mean losing myself completely.

i never wanted anyone else.

i never imagined anyone else.

that part is still true.

but loving you

is no longer enough

to save me.

so i have to choose myself.

even if it hurts us both.

[malamea]

a body present, a mind adrift

no lyrical prose can mask this

a soul fragmented, lost in the fray

there’s no equanimity in this array

but battles unseen can force a resilient soul

amidst fire, I will become whole

[malamea]

My mind—an intricate weaving of thoughts, ideas, perceptions, fantasies, desires and seemingly the most abundant: knowledge.

My inner universe teems with the sparkling stars of my interests, creating whole constellations. As for how they form, Curiosity and the pursuit of the answers needed to satisfy it, know no bounds. Fascination blooms like wildflowers in late Spring. Diving headfirst into the depths of knowledge on multiple subjects, I seek to unravel every thread, to understand every detail.

For me, the pursuit of knowledge of a special interest is not just a hobby; it's a fervent devotion, a passion. The subject may change, but the intensity always remains.

These special interests are my guiding stars, lighting my path through life. They infuse colour into a world that mainly looks bleak by way of my perception. The world around me routinely feels overwhelming and chaotic, causing me to often feel displaced. However, within this realm, I find solace, purpose, and an unshakable sense of self. It's where I am most "me."

[malamea]

at least I’m pretty when I cry seriously

[malamea]

having a personal tumblr to rant and vent on is sick bc it’s so easy to just type away and post it and have it all in one place and you can’t also reblog things that mean something to you or quotes you relate to, like scrapbooking in a journal, and I just - it’s such a good form of therapy for me 💜

[malamea]

like, I’ve been handling my bpd symptoms veryyyy well for a few years now, haven’t acted a fool or been crazy for like 7 years at least now, but I obv still have some symptoms here and there but they aren’t as intense and I can handle them for the most part

I also still have manic episodes but not near as much as I did and I certainly can handle them way better now, especially if a certain feeling triggers a certain manic behaviour - I’ve been able to handle that realllllly well and that was a struggle for most of my teenage years/early twenties

But lately some things I’ve been feeling have been on my mind and won’t go away and I can’t let it out and I’ve just been torturing myself and it’s reminiscent of bpd mania, and ugh it’s just annoying

been doing A LOT more counselling sessions than normal lately the past couple weeks 😂